


Dune Grasses

by Dedicate Kiwicrocus (cranky__crocus)



Series: SMACKDOWN '11 Round Two - Team Discipline [39]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F, Goldenlake, smackdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranky__crocus/pseuds/Dedicate%20Kiwicrocus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rosie laughed; the dunes did too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dune Grasses

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SMACKDOWN at Goldenlake: fiefgoldenlake.proboards.com

Some days, Lark could not keep her hands from Rosethorn—and expected surely no god or goddess would expect it to be possible, not a compassionate or vaguely humane one, anyway. Not with nights like this, the full moon above them as they rode along the path from Summersea to Winding Circle.

            The images in Lark’s mind would have brought a blush to Rosethorn’s fair skin, which was appropriate given Lark was thinking of her in a rather revealed and flushed way as it was. She thought of Rosie’s skin reflecting silver moonlight and joining it with her own golden hue, pressing down and covering her amongst the sea-side grasses. She was relieved that the religion that had called to her accepted such love—and the passion that came so woven within it.

            The images were flashing and fleeting, yet struck her hard to her core:

            Kissing in the grasses, the sea breeze bending it to tickle them like threads. Skyclad and glorious, running like children to the waterline and shivering together with laughter, touching like children would not. Slow rhythms in the sand, their skin burning up and temporarily immune to the sand-scratch as they cry up to the stars. The wind carrying Rosie’s whispers far and fast away, toward ears never to be as lucky as Lark’s. Their bodies merging together in peace and quiet, the colours behind their eyes painting worlds against their sight and the darkness. Fingers dancing and joining, in sync and gentle and not, answering the calls of the longing between them.

            They might burn the dunes down, but the ocean was here—the ocean and the wind that did not chill them but plucked at their clothing as they rode along in silence. Only, Rosie had stopped; Lark did the same.

            “It’s a nice night,” Rosethorn began, her voice difficult to place. When Lark finally did, she was nearly off her horse in an instant and running to Rosie for a kiss, but she refrained.

            “It is a nice night,” she agreed.

            “We don’t have to be back until dawn,” the other woman continued, feigning cool contemplation. She could not hide the signs of interest from Lark, however. Rosethorn added, “That’s hours yet.”

            “It is.”

            Rosie slid off her horse and stared up at Lark, eyes larger with her raised brows, and more expectant than patient. “Lark, get off that horse.”

            They embraced on the dune through midnight and the early hours, uncaring of the sand in their hair. The water was frigid and drew a surprised holler from Rosie’s lips, spurring only laughter and a warm embrace from Lark, who had survived cooler waters. The sand warmed them as they undulated upon it like the waves of the ocean itself. They tumbled together over a blanket Rosie at last had the sense to retrieve from her saddlebag and as the sun rose, they watched it together with their toes in the sand and their fingers laced together. The sun lit the smiles on their faces as they recalled the darkness and wind, and their ride through the evening.

            The dunes did not go down in flames, though the sea grasses looked especially vibrant and long as they leaned toward Rosethorn and twined around her ankles.

            “We’re going to be late now,” Rosethorn stated as the sun finished crossing the line of the horizon, the sunlight still skipping from wave to wave and toying in the spray of the tide.

            “We are,” Lark acknowledged, squeezing Rosie’s hand. “But a rule successfully broken once is a rule worth breaking again, sometimes.”

            Rosie laughed; the dunes did too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! C:


End file.
